


Like A King

by queensburner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensburner/pseuds/queensburner
Summary: In Almyra, it was considered proper for a king to be overweight.  Supposedly it showed that he possessed the wealth and power to afford luxury.  The opposite was true in Fódlan; a leader was supposed to be muscular, to show that he maintained a strict training regimen despite having the option of luxury.Claude wished for the day when resources and safety were plentiful for all.  Such arbitrary standards for the way a person ought to look.  What purpose did they serve?  He hoped that when he and Byleth were married, each kingdom would accept them as the rulers that they were: strong, dedicated, hopelessly in love.-In which I cannot stop thinking about chubby!Claude and Byleth
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	Like A King

It was well past midnight when Claude retired from the banquet hall with his belly full of good food and mead. These events usually went long into the night, sometimes into the mornings, but he was tired. The long time spent away from his fiancee was beginning to take its toll on him.

Upon reaching his bedchamber, he removed his cloak and shirt and stood before the mirror. He had only gotten bigger since the war’s end. For a long time, he had remained uncertain about the weight, but Byleth had told him, shown him, many times that she liked it.

He closed his eyes at the thought of her.

His hands trailed over the topography of his body, and he could almost imagine that they were hers. They traced around the curve of his stomach, pinching the bit of soft fat that hung over his waistband. His fingers slipped under a roll forming on his side. They ducked briefly into the depth of his belly button.

His stomach ached. It was a feeling he had grown accustomed to. Peacetime meant diplomatic missions, and diplomacy meant sharing meals.

It was a change of pace that he welcomed from the many moons of killing. Eating with political allies and enemies was an easy task. Of course, eating plentifully was a sign of good will towards one’s host, and it was one in which he was happy to engage. Such a strategy had led to many stomachaches, and many pounds piling onto his frame. Stretch marks decorated his inner thighs and the widest part of his stomach like spiderwebs, mostly faded from their former angry red to a color only a few shades off from the bronze tone of his skin. Their delicate lines contrasted the harsh scars that marred the surface of so much of his body.

He wrote to Byleth frequently, but he missed her still. He longed for the feeling of her lean figure pressing against his softer one. She would embrace him from behind, wrapping her arms around his bloated belly and soothing away the ache.

In some of his letters, he wrote about the weight that was creeping up on him. He could picture the faint pink color that would rise in her cheeks when he would speak about such things. Oh, how he loved eliciting such reactions from her. Though she had become more expressive throughout their time together, she rarely grew flustered, so he made it his mission to pull what small blushes he could from her. A calm stoicism, he supposed, would be reassuring to the fragile people of Fódlan. She would be a great queen.

His queen.

He longed to return to her, to marry her, to finally make her his own, and make himself hers in turn. He would hail her, worship her as his queen.

He could hear her whispering encouragement to him as her hands explored his body. She could make him melt.

So many variables were still unknown, but there were a few things that he knew with certainty. She loved him, and she loved his body, and he loved her as well. He seized his belly in both hands and gave it a shake, feeling the way it jiggled. It wasn’t the only part of him that did so. The rippling continued through his upper arms, his thighs, and his pecs, softening to be something more akin to breasts.

In Almyra, it was considered proper for a king to be overweight. Supposedly it showed that he possessed the wealth and power to afford luxury. The opposite was true in Fódlan; a leader was supposed to be muscular, to show that he maintained a strict training regimen despite having the option of luxury.

Claude wished for the day when resources and safety were plentiful for all. Such arbitrary standards for the way a person ought to look. What purpose did they serve? He hoped that when he and Byleth were married, each kingdom would accept them as the rulers that they were: strong, dedicated, hopelessly in love.

He was becoming lost in his thoughts of her.

He stepped away from the mirror to sit on the bed. It was two days’ flight to Derdriu by wyvern, one and a half if he took their fastest. Surely, he could settle one of his brothers with his responsibilities for a week.

No, no, he was being ridiculous. It would be irresponsible, and he would realistically never trust another with his duties, his kingdom, his dreams. Another aside from her, that was. Besides, he had promised that he would change the world by the time they reunited, and he refused to break that promise. For all his efforts, he still had relatively little to show for it.

He just wished to see her so badly.

His trousers, already digging into the soft flesh of his waistline, were growing tighter. Claude removed the final remaining articles of clothing from his body. There was a primal desire for release building up in the pit of his stomach. The myriad banquets and feasts were certainly easier on him than battle, but they were not without their stresses. He took his length in one hand and began stroking. A shiver ran through his body, and he felt the way it responded. He let go of the tension in his shoulders, his back, his jaw. Most of it, anyway. He kept going, clearing his mind of all his stresses, of the obstacles that remained in his way even in a time of peace. He felt only the sensation of his body and the imagined touch of his lover.

When he finished, he drew himself a bath. He supposed he could call on a servant to do such a task for him, but what would be the point? There were some tasks that he wished to do for himself. Some nobles, he knew, had servants do nearly everything for them, even to tie their bootstrings and shave their faces. How prodigal.

The tub filled with hot water, releasing steam and the scent of oils into the air. Jasmine and sandalwood. Claude eased himself into the water’s warm embrace. It lapped away at the tension he still held in his body. Though the war was over, he still had so far to go. Internal conflicts between political factions within Almyra still prevailed, to say nothing of the prejudices that held them apart from Fódlan. And that, still, was ignoring the barriers that kept both nations segregated against Sreng, Morfis, Dagda, Brigid.

He took a deep breath and relaxed deeper into the water. Even when he did his best to unwind he could not ignore their ambitions. Times like this, when his mind wouldn’t stop racing, he always went to the water. He could spout some nonsense about its cleansing abilities, about having his worries washed away, but to be frank, he didn’t believe in any of that.

As the clock struck two o’clock, a verse came to his mind, one that he had read in the monastery library a long time ago. Time had worn the exact phrasing away from his memory, but he could recall the idea of it. He spoke aloud to himself.

“Every man’s death diminishes me, for I am part of mankind. So I seek not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for me.”

He should get some sleep.

Claude stepped out of the bathtub. He grabbed a soft towel to dry himself off and draped a honey-colored robe around himself, tying it closed beneath his stomach. He returned to his bedchamber, but rather than laying down to sleep, he sat at his desk and set out a well of ink and a leaf of parchment and began to write.


End file.
